Focus
by NeitherSparky
Summary: First in a series A revelation for Terrence leads to an unexpected change in his life...and possibly the lives of others. Complete
1. Chapter One

Focus  
a Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends fanfic  
by  
C. "Sparky" Read

_A/N: Before you read this, and then possibly the sequel "Edge," you should know that I have decided not to continue this series. My views on the characters and the show have changed quite a bit since I started this project and I feel I can no longer continue this particular storyline with my current mindset. I guess I won't delete the stories from FFdotnet but just be aware that there will be no more in this series. Thanks. -Sparky_

_Chapter One_

Terrence didn't know why he was so stupid.

It wasn't as if he was asking to be a genius or anything, but he certainly would have settled for average. Anything was better than the constant reminders that he was stupid. He got it at home from his jerkfaced little brother and he got it at school from his classmates and hell, even some of the teachers. His own mother, while careful never to insult her children directly, was prone to moments where she merely threw her hands in the air in frustration and exclaimed, "Honestly Terrence, don't you even _try_ to do well in school?"

He did try. He tried constantly to keep up with his schoolwork but something that eluded him always held him back. For the life of him he could not figure out what this great mystery was, this one element he was lacking that always made it so difficult to complete a single homework assignment. Every day he watched with envy as people all around him effortlessly comprehended things while he was unable to do the same. Just seeing his eight-year-old brother Mac open his Math book and zip through his assignments with ease filled him with a seething jealousy that more often then not manifested itself in destructive behavior, after which he was usually confined to his room to sit alone on his bed and wonder _why_. It didn't seem fair. He hadn't _asked_ to be stupid, after all. But everyone always seemed quick to remind him of his lot. He had decided long ago not to care, but deciding to do something wasn't the same as actually doing it.

Today in Geometry class he had stood at the whiteboard for what seemed like an eternity clutching an orange dryerase marker and trying to make sense out of the multicolored shapes and symbols in front of him. At last Ms. Yeates (who had the patience of a saint, for what its worth) took pity on him and let him sit down, but not before causing him enough humiliation to warrant knocking that bigmouth Jimmy Taylor against the wall, getting Terrence sent to the Vice Principal's office. Terrence would certainly hear from Mom about that one later tonight when she came home from work.

Then the capper on what was already shaping up to be a craptacular day came when Terrence, his ears still buzzing with Vice Principal Healey's disparaging words, arrived home only to trip over Mac's backpack left carelessly near the door. His anger to the boiling point, Terrence chased Mac through the neighborhood slinging threat after threat while Mac countered with numerous comments slandering his older brother's intelligence – naturally, for it seemed to be the only fodder anyone knew to use against him. You can imagine that this didn't exactly calm Terrence down.

At last they arrived at Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, a large, quaint-looking house situated on a quiet street a little more than a mile from their apartment. This is where Mac always went every day after school (and for at least a little while even on both weekend days), to visit his own imaginary friend, Bloo. He had to go every day, that was the agreement – if he didn't Bloo might get adopted out to another kid. Bloo had recently gone to live at Foster's when Mom had announced that Mac was too old for him, but both Mac and Bloo knew that the real reason Mom had made Bloo leave was because of Terrence and his temper. The fighting between the three at the apartment had just been too much for Mom to bear, so she had devised the only solution she could. While Mom did not yet know of these visits, Terrence had found out at the start; the only reason he had not yet squealed was because he was still waiting for just the right moment to get Mac into a buttload of trouble. That moment could come at any time.

It was safe to say that Mac and Bloo highly disliked Terrence. And they were very careful to make that very clear at every opportunity.

Having lost Mac at last upon arriving in the west sideyard, Terrence skidded to a stop and paused, hands on knees, to try and catch his breath after the long hard run. After a moment he straightened up and glared around himself for any signs of his brother – or anyone else, for that matter. There was no one about. Feeling the need to keep the insults flowing, Terrence cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled up at the house (where he figured Mac was hiding), "I'm gonna pound you into grape jelly, you little snotburger!"

At this a large grey rabbit in a top hat and monocle appeared at an open second-story window. This was Mr. Herriman, Madam Foster's own imaginary friend, still with her after a good eight decades. He seldom smiled, was formal at all times, and fancied himself in charge of Foster's. He looked about for a moment to locate the source of the voice and at last spotted Terrence below him, still glaring around. "I'm afraid you've got the wrong side, lad," Mr. Herriman called down stiffly. "Deliveries go to the east service entrance."

This derailed Terrence's train of thought entirely, and it went down in a firey crash. "What?" was all he could manage, gaping up at the rabbit.

Mr. Herriman frowned. "Aren't you the grocery boy?" he queried.

"Um…huh?"

An impatient huff. "Did you not just mention grape jelly and ground hamburger?" the rabbit demanded irritably.

Terrence blinked up at the window in confusion. "Uh," was his reply.

Mr. Herriman frowned more deeply and leaned over the sill. "Why, you're not the grocery boy at all!" he declared at last, adjusting his monocle. "You're that trespassing hooligan. I shall ask you to retrieve your rugby ball or whatever it is that you lost over the fence at once and vacate the premises immediately or I shall be forced to call the authorities! Go on," he added when Terrence opened his mouth to protest (or perhaps offer another "Uh"). "At once!" And with that the rabbit closed the window and hopped out of view.

A high, teasing voice suddenly reached the thirteen-year-old's ears from the back of the sideyard. "Terrence is too _stupid_ to be a delivery boy!" it said. "He wouldn't be able to read any of the addresses and he'd always wind up in Cuba!"

Terrence looked round to spot a blue, simply-conceived imaginary friend, with Mac standing behind him, both laughing now. The older boy stared at them a moment before flushing red and charging at them in rage. Mac and Bloo – still giggling – ducked around the corner, Terrence hot on their heels. They led him through the spacious backyard and round the other corner of the house as they vanished into the east sideyard. Following them blindly, Terrence darted around the corner and found himself face to face with a ladder. Assuming his victims had made their escape by means of it, Terrence quickly climbed to the top.

"All right, where are you you little – " He stopped short, looking down. The ladder was propped up against what looked for all the world like a nine-foot-tall tin can with no lid. Before he could ascertain just what the lumpy white substance the can was filled with was, Mac and Bloo suddenly appeared on either side of him and pushed.

"Hey!" yelled a redheaded young woman by the side entrance as she was splashed with the contents of the can (this was Madam Foster's granddaughter, Frankie). "What's going on? Who are you?" she added, pointing accusingly at Terrence, who had surfaced with a cough, unable to identify him through the white gunk he was now coated with.

"Why, its that young ruffian again," announced Mr. Herriman, appearing at the door. "So sorry, lad," he went on, turning to the young man in the "Graber's Grocers" shirt standing nearby with a confused look on his face, "but I'm afraid we will have to order a new vat of tapioca."

Trying to ignore Mac and Bloo, who were rolling around on the ground in hysterics, Frankie stepped up to the can. "Just what do you think you are doing?" she yelled at Terrence, scowling as she tried to sweep globs of tapioca off of her shoulders. "Do you know how unsanitary that is? Didn't you read the sign?" She indicated a modestly-sized sign on the side of the house that read THIS AREA FOR DELIVERIES ONLY.

Bloo sat up. "Terrence is too _stupid_ to read!" he blurted, and he and Mac dissolved into laughter once again, mostly at the sight of Terrence hanging over the side of the can drenched in tapioca pudding.

Finally managing to collect himself, Terrence hauled himself over the edge of the can, fell with a very wet plop on the lawn (which covered Frankie head to toe in pudding), picked himself up, and ran off.

"Next time I'm calling the authorities!" threatened Mr. Herriman, shaking a gloved fist in the air while Frankie stood morosely beside him, dripping.

"What a stupid kid," the redhead remarked crossly.

"Cuba!" Bloo yelled suddenly after the departing teen, and he and Mac broke into laughter anew.

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o

"But Mooo-ooom…"

"Don't 'but-mom' me! Honestly Terrence, I don't know what goes through that head of yours sometimes! First I get _another_ call from your vice principal about you picking on your classmates – "

"_I_ wasn't picking on _them!_"

"Let me finish! And _then_ I get home and find…what I would _swear_ is tapioca pudding all over the living room and the bathroom – "

"But _Mom_ I didn't _do_ it!"

"Terrence your clothes are _covered_ with the stuff! What on Earth were you _doing_ after school today?"

"I – It – It was Mac's fault!"

"Oh don't you give me that! Terrence, go to your room right now!"

"But – "

"Go! Now!"

Mac waited for the angry footsteps, then the familiar slam of the door across the hall, before setting his homework down, getting off of his bed, and peeking out of his room. Mom was in the living room with a roll of paper towels in her hands, looking frankly perplexed at how exactly she was supposed to get tapioca pudding out of the carpet fibres.

"Mom?"

Mom looked up and sighed. "Come on out, sweetie," she said, beckoning to him. "I'm sorry I asked you to wait in your room while I spoke to your brother."

"Um, that's okay." Mac looked at the mess on the floor a bit guiltily. "Do…you want me to help clean up?" he asked.

Mom gave him a tired smile, and shook her head. "I do hate shouting at him, you know," she said apologetically, setting the roll of paper towels on the kitchen table. "But the things he does…" She trailed off as Mac stood there awkwardly. Finally she shrugged. "Well, let's try out that wet-dry vac I paid so much money for. I knew it would come in handy someday, I just wasn't expecting…this."

The wet-dry vac turned out to be a pretty good investment after all, and soon enough Mom and Mac were sitting down to a quick dinner of leftover meatloaf. Afterwords Mom knocked on Terrence's door while Mac resumed his homework in the living room.

Terrence was sitting on his bed ripping pages out of an old seventh-grade Algebra textbook and flinging the wadded paper against the wall when Mom knocked. He ignored the first knock but reluctantly greeted the second one with a mumbled "What."

Mom opened the door slowly. "Terrence," she started the same old conversation. "Is everything all right? With you? With school?"

Terrence thought about Jimmy Taylor and the others and was silent.

Leaving the door open, Mom crossed the room and sat on the end of the bed. "Why did you push that boy today?" she pressed.

Terrence mumbled something.

"What?"

"I said he's a smeghead," Terrence replied, borrowing a word he'd heard on BBC America one night long after he was supposed to be in bed.

Mom made a face but held back her full reaction. "Well why is he a – " she licked her lips – "What exactly was he doing?" she asked.

Terrence shrugged. "I was working a problem at the board and he was saying stuff about me," he relented.

"What stuff?"

Silence.

Mom sighed and sat back a little. "Well maybe from now on you should just work the problems and never mind what other people are saying," she advised. "Did you at least get the problem right?"

Terrence glowered. "No."

"Was it too hard?"

"No…"

"Then what?"

"Maybe I'm just too stupid to read," Terrence heard himself blurt sarcastically.

"Oh, honey," exclaimed his mother at once, reaching out for his arm, "you shouldn't ever say that."

"Why not?" protested Terrence, jerking his arm away from her. "That's all everyone ever seems to say!" By 'everyone' here, of course he meant Bloo, but Mom took the logical step and assumed he meant everyone at school. She drew back in concern.

"Terrence, are you having trouble reading? Is that what this is all about?"

Terrence blinked at her. What? "Huh?" he said. "Uh, no – "

Mom put the fingers of one hand against her lips as the implications of this hit her. "I should have noticed sooner," she gasped. "You used to do better in school...Oh, _sweetie_, I'm so sorry. I'll make an appointment with a doctor right away to have your eyes checked out."

This was _not_ cool. "Mom!" cried Terrence in horror.

Mom got up and headed for the door. "Honey, if you need glasses then the sooner you get them the better, before you start high school next year. If you're hungry there's still some meatloaf left in the fridge." She paused in the doorway to look back at her eldest, who was still sitting on the bed staring at her in disbelief. "Terrence, you know I love you," she said firmly. "And don't worry, whatever the problem is, we'll find a way to work it out." She left, passing Mac in the hallway, who tried to pretend like he hadn't been listening.

Terrence sat there on his bed, gaping after his departing mother, and wondered what the heck he had gotten himself into this time. Whatever it was, it seemed to be all Bloo's fault for all that crap he had been spewing that afternoon about reading.

But one thing was for sure: Terrence sure as hell was never going to eat tapioca pudding again as long as he lived.


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

Mac had just gotten home from Foster's a few days later when Mom dragged Terrence into the apartment, both looking extremely harried. 

"_Honestly, Terrence_," Mom was gasping, her son's arm still held in a deathgrip in her left hand. "I think I can say, in all sincerity, that that was the _worst_ experience of my parenting career! I have _never_ seen such a display in all my _life!_ I thought that poor nice girl at the counter was going to _cry!_" 

Mac positioned himself well out of the way of any physical scuffle that may occur. He knew that the day Terrence went to the optometrist was going to be rough on Mom, but it looked like he may have actually underestimated his brother for once. 

Still not relinquishing her hold on the teen, who was squirming to escape, Mom wrenched her purse off of her shoulder and tried to drop it onto a kitchen chair (she missed and it hit the ground). "I can't believe that was actually worse than the dentist last month," she moaned. 

Mac, who had been present at the now-infamous Drill Incident, raised an eyebrow. "What happened?" 

Ignoring the daggers Terrence was glaring, Mom answered, "Your brother is getting glasses next week." 

A smile slowly worked its way across Mac's face. "Oh, really?" he replied, directing the question more at Terrence, who just seethed in silence. Mom finally let the older boy go at this point, and he darted into his room like a rodent scurrying for cover. Mom collapsed on the couch. Mac picked up her purse and set it on the table before sitting next to her. 

"You okay?" he asked her, unable to completely hide his amusement. Wait until he told Bloo about _this_. He'd about die. 

But Mom wasn't so amused. "I'm sorry, Mac," she sighed, covering her face with her hands. 

Mac's smile vanished. "What?" 

"I'm sorry I work all the time," Mom went on, raising her head. "I'm sorry I'm so busy. I'm sorry I can't spend more time with you boys. But it's hard." 

Mac was confused. He touched her arm. "Mom?" he queried, hoping for clarification. 

Mom sighed again, and dropped her hands in her lap. "How long has he needed glasses?" she asked the far wall, as if it could and would answer the rhetorical question. "No wonder he has so much trouble in school. I should have _noticed_. Its all my fault." 

She looked so miserable that Mac hugged her at once. "It's not _your_ fault Terrence won't do his homework," he argued, defending her. 

"Mac," Mom said, only halfheartedly returning the hug, "Terrence is farsighted. That means he can't quite make out things right in front of him." She mimed holding a book before herself. "If you tried to do your homework every day and you couldn't figure out why you're having so much trouble understanding it, you'd get frustrated too. The doctor says he sees it in kids all the time." 

Mac mulled that over. Even if it was true that Terrence had trouble reading that didn't absolve him of all the dumb things he did. And he was still a jerk. A dumb jerk. But he decided not to say that, and nodded mutely instead. 

Mom grabbed a tissue from the box on the endtable and stood up, dabbing at one eye. "_Try_ to be nice to your brother?" she implored, looking at Mac. "Just _try_ it?" 

"Okay," Mac replied after a short hesitation. "I'll try it." 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Operation Be Nice To Terrence was doomed from the start, however. Mac found himself digging fabric out of his nether regions following a Terrence-inflicted uberwedgie only a few hours later when they both entered the bathroom to brush their teeth at the same time, thus ridding Mac of any blossoming notions of regret for calling Terrence stupid. 

If it was possible, Terrence became even more abusive following the optometrist visit, and his harsh treatment of Mac escalated. Mac's time at Foster's for the next week was spent with Bloo drawing rude pictures of Terrence sporting all manner of unfashionable eyewear and coming up with new ways to insult him. Neither of them could wait for "G-Day," as they had dubbed it, and at last, it came. 


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

Ferndale Middle School was within walking distance of their apartment so Terrence thankfully didn't have to take the bus (although next year he would, when he entered high school). But the walk was bad enough. He was known to have a volatile temper, of course, so the other boys didn't get in his face so much as yell at him from across the street, always ready to scatter and run if the other decided to give chase. Unfortunately all of Terrence's "friends" (the quotes serving to illustrate that said boys were not really his friends so much as co-bullies and therefore not often associated with outside of school hours) lived on the other side of town and he didn't see any of them before reaching school, forcing him to walk alone while cowardly seventh- and eighth-graders taunted him from afar. Terrence didn't care that they didn't like him, he just wondered why they couldn't find someone else to pick on so early in the morning. Upon reaching school he had maybe ten minutes of clowning around with his "friends" before first period, where the real hell started. 

First period was English, which he never did well in. The books they were assigned to read were boring, often confusing, and took too long to read so he didn't bother. He hadn't in fact really sat down and read a book all the way through since fifth grade. Writing essays was marginally better because he was always able to make up _something_ to write about based on the discussions in class – Mr. Fredrikson knew very well that Terrence wasn't reading the assignments but he couldn't argue with the boy's creativity. 

By now the class was a little more than halfway through _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn_, although of course Terrence hadn't touched it. Today he paid for not doing the reading assignments when Mr. Fredrikson called on Terrence to describe the relationship between Huck and Jim, and Terrence came up empty, which got him laughed at. The start of another hellish day. 

Second period was Chemistry, with Mrs. White. Terrence wasn't bad at Chemistry as long as he had a competent lab partner to walk him though the experiments but he bit the big one when it came to the bookwork. He looked forward to the lab days. Today was bookwork. Strike two. 

Third period was the joy known as Spanish. Terrence was lousy at it. He frequently got his words mixed up and often said things that struck the class as funny, and on one occasion he had mispronounced something on accident but Senora Masters had assumed he meant it on purpose and reported him to the Vice Principal. She'd had a beef with him ever since, and never cut him any slack. Today she made him read a small passage from the textbook aloud, and it took almost fifteen minutes because she wouldn't let him stop until he had done it right. The rest of the class enjoyed this entertainment immensely. 

Next was Lunch, during which Terrence busied himself hunting down and punishing as many of his Spanish classmates as possible. He paid for this time-consuming project by not getting anything to eat. It was at least a little worth it. 

On to Geometry. Personable, petite, blonde, vegetarian Ms. Yeates was easily Terrence's favorite teacher, merely because she was always nice to him, even when he hadn't done the homework or couldn't answer a question in class. If he earned a low score on a test she merely gave him the low score and no accompanying lecture or disapproving look. He wished all his teachers were like her. Unfortunately the subject matter was pretty much completely over his head. Today he spent the majority of the class making threatening gestures at frecklefaced Jimmy Taylor, who retaliated by pelting him with the multicolored rubber bands they used on pegboards to make geometric shapes. He would have been glad when class was over if he didn't have History next. 

Terrence absolutely loathed History with a passion. Not so much because it was boring and he couldn't fake his way through the homework as easily as he could in English, but because of Mr. George. Mr. George was a jowly, balding, bespectacled, perpetually scowling man with hair coming out his ears. None of that mattered so much as the fact that he didn't seem to like children at all, and he definitely didn't like Terrence. Mr. George was one of those grownups who believed that there are no good or bad children, just a bunch of kids who have gone rotten and all the rest, who could do the same at any time. Terrence was of course already deeply rotten as far as Mr. George was concerned. He never called on Terrence in class because he didn't believe in "wasting my valuable time on people who don't have a brain in their head" which actually served Terrence quite well, but he more than made up for this by frequently keeping Terrence after class to remind him what a failure he was. Some people would call this "tough love" but Terrence just called it - well, a number of other words he had learned on late-night television that he shouldn't have been watching in the first place. 

Thank goodness he was able to end his day in Gym, where he didn't have to worry about books or whiteboards or equations. Unfortunately they were doing Swimming this semester, which wasn't as physical as he would have liked, but it was better than nothing. Still, the knowledge that as soon as he got home today his Mom would swing by to take him to pick up his new glasses ruined any fun he would normally have had dunking the sissy kids and at last he gave it up and snuck out of the pool early, risking detention (on purpose of course). But he wasn't caught, and, after changing in the locker room, walked home. 

He'd just opened the refrigerator to find something to replace his missed lunch when the phone rang. It was Mom. 

"Sweetie," she said after greeting him, "I'm sorry but Mr. Samir needs me to stay late tonight – it's very important. You don't need me to come with you to the doctor's, the glasses are all paid for and…well, I'm sure they remember _you_." 

Terrence pulled a face, which of course accomplished nothing as Mom wasn't anywhere where she could actually witness it. "Mooommm," he whined. 

"I don't want to hear it," Mom interrupted swiftly, her voice laced with fatigue. "You are to go on down to the doctor's – you remember where it is, past the library – and pick up those glasses. You can take your skateboard, but wear your helmet and pads, okay?" Ah, the famous helmet and pads. Terrence thought he may have stuffed them under his bed as soon as he got them for his last birthday, he couldn't remember anymore. Obviously Mom knew he wasn't going to wear them but at least no one could say she didn't ask him to. 

"…Terrence?" prompted Mom as her son fell into a petulant silence. 

"Yeah, fine," was the mumbled reply. 

"Tell Mac I'll be home a little later than normal and I'll pick something up for dinner, okay? No snacking, either of you." 

Terrence rolled his eyes. "Yeah, fine," he repeated, thinking more of how his own mother expected him to go hungry than of telling Mac, who was still at Foster's, anything. 

"See you later honey." 

"'Bye." 

Scowling, Terrence hung up the phone, and, realizing he still had the fridge open, shut the door. There wasn't much in there by way of leftovers anyways. Hoarded away in his nightstand drawer was a bag of miniature chocolate bars though so he grabbed the whole thing and stuffed it into his backpack after dumping its scholastic contents in the middle of his room. Then he fetched his skateboard and left the apartment, locking the front door behind him. He had the foresight to find solace in the fact that his going to the optometrist alone meant there was no chance of Mac tagging along and making fun of his new glasses the first second he put them on. But that was the only positive thing about the experience Terrence could come up with. 

Although he skated about halfway to the doctor's Terrence wound up tucking his skateboard under one arm and walking very slowly the rest of the way. He wasn't exactly in a rush to get there. The whole way he seethed in silence about how unfair the whole thing was. Glasses. This was the end of everything. Whoever heard of a dumb kid with glasses? Everyone knew only the smart kids wore glasses. Those smegheads at school were certain to just love this, not to mention Mac and his asinine blue imaginary friend. It was time to start stockpiling more food in his room, that way he could spend the whole summer in there. At least there were only a few more weeks of school left. Of course, then there was high school...Terrence groaned inwardly. Swell. He started to entertain thoughts of joining the circus; maybe if he was lucky they'd let him clean up after the elephants. 

Reaching the optometrist's, he entered reluctantly and looked around the large, quiet waiting room. There was one man sitting and reading a magazine, and he spotted the young receptionist he had yelled at last time behind the window with her back turned, so she hadn't seen him. Good. No – no, he didn't care if she saw him or not. He forced a scowl. So what if she didn't like him, he didn't care. He didn't need to talk to her anyways, the Vision Center where glasses were prescribed and picked up was down the hallway to the right, so he went that way without the receptionist ever noticing him. 

The Vision Center was empty save for the same lady who had fitted him for frames last week. She was an unsmiling, but not unpleasant elderly lady who had introduced herself as Sally. Coolly ignoring his protests, she had done her job with infinite patience, much to Mom's relief. 

Sally spotted him lingering in the doorway, scuffed skateboard tucked awkwardly under one arm, and still scowling for all he was worth. 

"Come along now, young man," she said evenly. "Let's see how these fit." Out of a drawer she pulled a pair of glasses, and Terrence at once recognized the black frames he had let his mother pick out for him last week. She beckoned him in with two fingers, and he barely scooted forward an inch or so. "Are we a three-toed sloth?" she queried, arching a silver eyebrow, Terrence clumped the rest of the way over to her insolently. 

"Here we are." Sally unfolded the glasses and held them out, earpieces towards Terrence, and waited expectantly. Terrence slowly set down his skateboard and shrugged off his backpack before taking them gingerly. 

"They aren't poisonous," Sally spoke up when Terrence looked at the things in his hands in distaste, holding them away from himself as if they were dripping mucous. "…They go on your face," she smiled wryly when Terrence continued to hesitate. 

After throwing Sally a cold look Terrence slowly slid the hated things over his ears. He blinked a few times in confusion, then turned slowly, looking around the Vision Center, his eyebrows knitted in concentration. That was weird. He lifted the glasses and looked at a poster beside him on the wall, then put the glasses back and looked through them. He lifted the glasses, looked, then dropped them and left them there. 

Sally cleared her throat softly. "Well I have to dust the displays," she said. "I'll be right over here." She turned and went to the children's frame section and began wiping down the mirrors, all the while watching Terrence out of the corner of one twinkling eye. 

"Wh…What?" stammered Terrence, unable to take his eyes from the pictures and small printing on the poster. "Oh. Okay." He moved right up to the poster, so that it was only inches from his face. He took his glasses off. The printing wasn't entirely impossible to read, but it took a great deal of concentration to make out all the letters, and distinguish say, e's from o's. But when he replaced his glasses everything was fine. _Everything was fine_. The e's looked like e's and the o's looked like o's and Terrence didn't have an ounce of trouble identifying each and every letter. He read a passage on the poster and it only took a moment. The same passage might have taken him a minute normally. And the pictures...the edges in the pictures really did look like edges, not just two colors beside one another, barely blurring where they met. 

Terrence felt his heart beating very fast. Was this it, then? Was _this_ the thing he needed to stop being so stupid, a pair of glasses? Maybe he was smart after all. Could it be as simple as that? He felt a sort of hope filling him. 

Sally stepped up beside him. "How do they fit, dear?" she asked him. She was smiling a kindly grandmotherly smile, and Terrence smiled awkwardly back, feeling a bit guilty for calling her an "old cow" the week before. "They're okay," he said. He let her feel the earpieces and shook his head when she asked if they were too tight, then listened politely while she explained the best way to clean the glasses, how take them off with both hands to reduce strain on the hinges, and how to set them on the frames instead of the lenses when placing them on a table. Then she gave him a hard case to keep them in when he wasn't wearing them, and soon Terrence, reunited with his backpack and skateboard, found himself back in the waiting room. 

He felt strange, drained somehow, and his stomach flopped a bit. He figured it was because he still hadn't eaten and he started to reach for his backpack to get some chocolate when he spotted the receptionist at the window, looking down at something in front of her. Again, she hadn't seemed to have noticed him. 

Swinging his backpack off of his shoulder Terrence started for the glass doors but something held him back, and he looked again at the attractive young dark-skinned receptionist. Mom was right, he realized. She _had_ looked as if she may have started crying last week when he screamed at her. Why had he been so angry? Now he wasn't sure. His stomach flopped again, and he looked into his backpack at the bag of chocolates. 

"Um." 

The receptionist looked up from her appointment book and instantly recognized the thirteen-year-old boy who had been in just a week ago to see the doctor and who had been an unholy terror his entire visit. She tried to remain professional. "Yes?" she said carefully. 

"Um," he said again, and then shakily, "I'm sorry." A crinkle of plastic wrap and an opened bag of individually-wrapped mini chocolate bars was thrust towards her. "I, um…here." Surprised, she took the bag slowly. 

Terrence took a breath. "I'm sorry…" he mumbled again. He looked up at last, and was treated to the sight of the receptionist smiling at him. It made her look very pretty. "Thank you," she said brightly, and he swallowed and offered her a crooked smile of his own. Then he left. 

He wasn't really hungry anyways. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

After leaving the optometrist's Terrence dawdled outside, meandering his way slowly homewards, just taking in his surroundings. He read every sign, watched pigeons strutting on the grass, even examined his red flannel shirt, surprised by the thin grey crisscrossing lines. He'd never known they were there before. He'd thought the shirt was just red. Knowing that everyone else had known the lines were there while he hadn't until now was a strange feeling. He could see something now that had always been there, and he was grateful to finally be let in on such a secret. 

Maybe he didn't _have_ to be stupid, he thought as he walked slowly, observing the new, clear way the divisions in the sidewalk looked as they passed under his sneakered feet. Maybe now he could do problems at the whiteboard like everybody else and not have to stand there trying to sort out what all the markings meant. Maybe he could do his homework quickly, like Mac, and get it in on time. Maybe Mr. George would stop calling him a waste of space if he turned in the assignment tomorrow… 

The assignment. His homework. Terrence shrugged his shoulders, feeling the emptiness of his backpack, regretting leaving all his school stuff at the apartment. He should hurry home, then, and get started. Dropping his skateboard, he stepped on it and pushed off; but then he stopped short. He was in front of the library. Libraries had books, he thought brightly. Maybe there was one assignment he could do without going all the way home. 

Terrence walked into the library carrying his skateboard and looked around a bit nervously. He wasn't exactly well-acquainted with libraries; the one at school was inhabited by a strange troll-like librarian who had a dowager's hump and was rumored to have a glass eye. Terrence didn't much like going in there because she always watched him with that lopsided stare, one eye just not quite pointing in the right direction. Indeed, middle schools seemed to employ some of the strangest people Terrence had ever encountered. And that was certainly saying something, considering some of the stranger people he had encountered already in his short life. 

Not spotting any trolls, Terrence ventured hesitantly deeper into the alien surroundings, gazing about himself at all of the shelves of paperbacks surrounding the front desk. The book he needed might be in there somewhere, but how to find it? He was at a loss. 

"Young man?" 

Terrence spun around, on the verge of blurting out excuses, that he hadn't done it, that it was some other kid. He started to pull his backpack off to show that it was empty when he saw that the speaker, an older gentleman, was smiling kindly down at him. 

"Do you need help finding something?" 

Terrence hesitated, taking a breath. A librarian, then. And not a troll. Good. The man was wearing glasses, and Terrence couldn't help becoming self-aware that he was wearing glasses too. He suddenly felt a bit of a bond with the stranger – they had something in common. 

"Um," the boy said, his typical way to start a conversation. "Yeah…I need a book…for um…for a class at school." 

The man nodded sagely. "I see," he said seriously. He raised a bushy eyebrow. "Does this mysterious tome have a name?" 

Not sure if the man was referring to the book or the class, Terrence replied, "Um, the book's called _Huckleberry Finn_." 

The man nodded again. "Yes, yes, a fine book. Action and adventure. Well worth the read. Samuel Clemens was quite a man." 

Terrence didn't have any idea who Samuel Clemens was but followed the librarian obediently to a shelf beyond the front desk where he was handed a well-read copy of _The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn (Tom Sawyer's Comrade)_. "I hope you find it worth your valuable time," said the man gravely, and he winked before he walked away. Terrence watched him go, slowly realizing that the old man was just being friendly in a goofy kind of way (_Probably somebody's grandpa_, he thought), and went to find a place to sit. He slid his skateboard and backpack under his chair and pondered the book. Huckleberry Finn. _Glad it's not **my** name_, he mused wryly. _It's probably a dumb book but I guess I can try it_. He opened it to the first page and read: 

_NOTICE_

PERSONS attempting to find a motive in this narra-  
tive will be prosecuted; persons attempting to find a  
moral in it will be banished; persons attempting to  
find a plot in it will be shot.

BY ORDER OF THE AUTHOR,  
Per G.G., Chief of Ordnance. 

Terrence laughed delightedly, ignoring the glances he got from other library patrons. Whoever Samuel Clemens was, this Mark Twain guy sure could start off a book. 

Although he couldn't quite grasp all of the vocabulary (and he was quite surprised at some of the words – were those allowed in school?) and although occasionally he found bits a tad boring, Terrence read avidly for hours, trying to at least catch up with the rest of the class. In truth he still read rather slowly, as he needed to sound out each word in his head (which was the only way he could sort out the dialects anyways), but compared to just this afternoon, he felt like he was zooming along. He was shaken out of his concentration by the library man who appeared at his elbow, smiling, and touching his shoulder. 

"Now, it's getting rather late," he said solemnly, peering over his glasses at the boy. "Is anyone at home waiting on you?" 

Terrence blinked up at him. "Um, what time is it?" he asked. 

"Getting on to seven o'clock. Sun's about down, and the streetlights are on." 

Terrence turned white. "Oh _God!_" he exclaimed, dropping the book on the table. "My mom'll _kill_ me!" He jumped up and drug his backpack and skateboard out from beneath the chair. 

The librarian picked up the book. "Well let's get you checked out quickly, then," he said. 

"Oh, um, thanks, I have one at home…Thanks!" Terrence blurted over his shoulder, hurrying for the door. He glanced over his shoulder once more and waved at the librarian as he shrugged on his backpack, then he ran out the door and skated frantically down the darkening street. 


	4. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

"Yes, hello – I know you've just closed but I hope you can help me...my son Terrence was supposed to come in this afternoon and pick up his new glasses...Well see he isn't home yet and I was just wondering if you've seen hi – yes. Yes, he's thirteen. Yes, that sounds like – what?" 

Mac watched his mother on the phone from his seat at the kitchen table. She had come home late bringing fast food fried chicken, and they had waited until seven o'clock before Mom got worried because Terrence still wasn't back. She was now on the phone with the optometrist's office. Mac frowned as she paused, her expression turning from worry to confusion. 

"What?" she said again. "I don't understand. I'm afraid you have my son mixed up with another – yes, Terrence is thirteen, he has black hair…" She unconsciously held out one hand indicating his height although she knew the receptionist couldn't see it. "Yes, well...that sounds like a very sweet thing to do but I'm afraid my son would never – " 

At that moment the door burst open to admit a badly winded Terrence (minus his glasses), who had just half-skated, half-run over a mile and then ran up the apartment steps without resting. He flung his backpack and skateboard on the floor and hung in the doorway, trying to catch his breath. 

"Yes thank you he's home now goodbye," Mom blurted hanging up the phone. She flew to Terrence's side as he managed to shut the door behind him. "Terrence!" she cried, grabbing him by the shoulders. "Where on _Earth_ have you been?" 

Terrence tried to reply but was still too winded to speak so Mom went on: "It's _dark_ out Terrence! You _know_ I want both of you boys home before dark!" 

Mac understood her worry. The last neighborhood they had lived in had been a fairly dangerous one. Although this one was scads safer at night he knew Mom couldn't help fearing the worst when one of her sons was late coming home. 

"Where _were_ you?" Mom demanded, giving Terrence a shake. 

"I'm sorry," Terrence managed feebly, snuffling some due to going straight from the chilly outdoors to the warmth of the apartment. "I…I didn't know…it was so late," he huffed. 

Mac, figuring it was okay to eat now, started in on a cold chicken leg. He watched the scene with interest. 

Mom stood back, wrinkling her nose. "Well," she said, hands on hips, "did you get them?" She decided trying to pry her teenaged son's whereabouts for the last four hours out of him was useless, and she went for the important information instead. 

Terrence snuffled again, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "Huh?" he replied. 

Mac grinned and munched on his chicken leg. It was a lot like watching a monkey in a zoo. He made mental notes so he could recount everything to Bloo tomorrow. 

Mom exhaled. "Your _glasses_," she reminded her eldest, drumming her fingers on her hips. "You remember, those round things that go on your face." 

Terrence scowled. Maybe Mom needed to hang out with Sally. "Yeah, I got 'em," he said. Fearful of breaking them, he had put them in their hard case before he started skating home. Now he pulled the case from his back pocket and held it out to her. But she didn't reach out for it. 

"Well, don't give them to _me_," she said impatiently. "Put them on." 

Mac grinned around his chicken. Dumb old Terrence. 

Terrence exhaled sharply. He opened the case, took out the glasses, unfolded them, and put them on. He held out his arms. "There," he spat, annoyed. 

Mom frowned at his attitude, narrowing her eyes. But, she had to admit, he _did_ at least do something she had asked him to do, even if it _had_ taken him four hours. She nodded. "All right," she said. "Go wash up and come eat." She turned and sat down at the kitchen table. 

Terrence cast a glance at Mac, who quickly twisted back around in his seat and pretended that he had been facing the other way the whole time. Scowling again, the teen scooped up his skateboard and backpack and threw them in his room, then went to the bathroom to wash his hands. Ordinarily he would have loved to skip dinner so he wouldn't have to be in the same room as Mac, who was clearly enjoying himself at his expense, but his appetite had returned shortly after leaving the optometrist's office, and he was starving. He'd just have to suck it up and go to dinner. 

He washed his hands quickly, then looked up into the mirror. He'd seen himself briefly in the mirrored walls of the Vision Center but now he took a good hard look at his new acquisitions. The frames were pretty basic: black, plastic, not too nerdy, he thought hopefully. He'd seen the same frames sported by trendy teenaged boys all over the place so maybe he wouldn't really be considered too much of a freak. He remembered that Sally had suggested them and figured she probably dealt with a lot of teenaged boys. He vaguely hoped they didn't all give her a hard time. She was a nice old lady. He dried his hands, went to the kitchen, and threw himself into his chair. 

Mac was in the middle of telling a story from his day at school. "...And then Eddie MacPhearson painted a dinosaur on Julie's paper eating the rabbit she had drawn and the teacher gave them both an A for doing a – " he paused to remember the difficult word – "collaborative project. Julie thought it was really funny." Then he turned to Terrence, who was tucking into a biscuit. "I think they look nice," he declared matter-of-factly. 

Terrence glared at him as he swallowed, figuring the little meatwad was just trying to look like a goody-good in front of Mom (who was smiling encouragingly at both of them). Terrence glanced at her, then decided to fight fire with fire. He looked Mac square in the eye. "Thanks," he said mildly. When Mac smiled at him, he looked away and dragged the box of chicken towards himself and fell silent. He wasn't falling for any of it. He knew Mac still thought he was stupid, thought he looked stupid. But he'd show Mac soon enough that he – and that bigmouthed blue blob – was dead wrong about him. He'd show them, and everyone else too. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

After dinner, Terrence sat in front of his computer with his History textbook in his lap, reading the assignment at the end of Chapter 24. It was an essay on the Age of Industry. He took a steadying breath. Right. No problem. He read the chapter carefully and examined all of the illustrations, trying hard not to miss anything. Over an hour later he started to peck out something on the word processor. 

There was a knock on the door. "Terrence?" It was Mom. Terrence quickly threw the book under his bed and fired up a shooting game as if doing his homework was forbidden – the truth was that the concept was so alien to him that it really _did_ feel like he was doing something forbidden. "Yeah?" he squeaked. 

Mom opened the door and poked her head into the room. "Terrence, its getting late. You know how I hate dragging you out of bed in the morning. Are you playing a game?" 

"Um, I'm doing my homework," he gave her the standard excuse, then grinned wickedly at the irony. Mom made a face at him. 

"Well finish up and go to bed," she told him, and withdrew, closing the door. Trying not to laugh, Terrence brought the word processor back up and went back to hunting and pecking. 


	5. Chapter Five

_Chapter Five_

"And so the subject of race," Mr. Fredrikson was saying, "features predominantly in _Huck Finn_ – " he waved about his own copy of the book, " – but the question is, was Mark Twain _less_ racist than his peers or moreso, for addressing it? What about the portrayal of Jim's intelligence? Tony." 

Tony put his hand down. "I don't think he was racist," he said. "If he was he wouldn't have made Jim such a good character. He would have made him stupid." 

"He's kind of stupid," argued Kate after Mr. Fredrikson spotted her waving hand and pointed to her with his book. "I mean, he doesn't know a lot of things. I mean, he wasn't taught stuff, like in school." 

"That doesn't make him stupid," Tony argued. "It just means he didn't go to school. Big deal." 

"Well, he's _kind_ of stupid." 

Naomi raised her hand and was called on. "I'm glad Jim's the way he is," she announced. "If he had been educated it wouldn't have been realistic. So I don't think Mark Twain was racist just for making a realistic character." 

"But Jim _is_ kind of stupid," Kate spoke up again. 

"Well…yeah, I guess he's kind of stupid," acquiesced Naomi. 

"_I_ don't think he's stupid." 

Everyone twisted to look at Terrence, who had spoken out of turn. Mr. Fredrikson looked at him with interest. The English teacher had made a point of complementing Terrence on his new glasses when the latter had walked into class this morning, but this was unexpected. "And why not, Terrence?" 

Terrence rolled his eyes. "Well, everyone knows that racism is stupid, right? I mean, everyone's the same, right?" 

"Right," said Mr. Fredrikson, intrigued. Terrence had never joined in a class discussion before. 

"But back then almost nobody had figured that out yet, right?" 

"That's right." 

"So…cats and cows." 

The class was silent. 

Tony, who like most kids at school, didn't like Terrence, narrowed his eyes. "_What?_" he snapped. 

Mr. Fredrikson leaned backwards on his desk, waiting expectantly, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. 

"The cats and the cows," answered Terrence, shooting Tony a glare. "And the…and the French people." He waved his copy of the book around a bit. "Jim said it. Nobody else back then could have or there wouldn't have been so much racism. Well I guess really Mark Twain said it – and I'm pretty sure he was really smart. He made Jim say it so he made Jim the smartest guy in the book. Period." He looked triumphantly at Tony, who sneered back. 

Mr. Fredrikson opened his book and read: "_'Is a cat a man, Huck?' 'No.' 'Well, den, dey aint no sense in a cat talkin like a man. Is a cow a man? - er is a cow a cat?' 'No, she aint either of them.' 'Well, den, she aint got no business to talk like either one er the yuther of em. Is a Frenchman a man?' 'Yes.'_" 

The class oh'ed a little in recognition of the passage. 

Mr. Fredrikson closed the book, keeping his finger on the page, and stepped away from his desk. "Does anyone think Terrence is right?" he asked the class, walking slowly back and forth. Nobody answered right away but at last Tina, in the back, waved her hand around. 

"I do. Me," she said. 

A slow chorus of "Me too"s spread around the class. "Well, I guess so," Kate gave in finally. Tony slumped in his seat and just shrugged. 

"I believe you've won your argument," Mr. Fredrikson told Terrence with a small nod, before moving on to the next discussion. 

First period went pretty well. 

Chemistry wasn't too bad. There hadn't been any homework assigned the day before, although Mrs. White did give the students a few equations today to solve by the next class, but the good news was that it was a lab day. Piece of cake. 

Spanish was a chore but Terrence read very carefully when it was his turn and pronounced everything correctly and Senora Masters was forced not to focus too much time on him. 

Terrence felt so good at Lunch that he chased a group of male seventh-grade band geeks into a girl's bathroom and wedged the door shut, and then booked it before he got caught. 

Geometry got him worried, though. He discovered to his disappointment that being able to read the whiteboard did not instantly equal understanding of its contents. He sat there and tried to look interested while pointedly ignoring Jimmy Taylor's constant attempts to get his attention. When fourth period was over and the class filed past Ms. Yeates' desk dropping off the day's work, Terrence didn't make his customary dash for the door. Ms. Yeates looked up in surprise when she found him lingering by her desk as everyone else left. 

"I didn't do my work," he said, not looking her in the eye. 

Ms. Yeates looked at him curiously. "Yes," she said. 

"I don't understand it." 

The teacher broke into a reserved smile. "I see," she replied. "Why don't you sit down for a moment, Terrence? I'll write you a late pass." 

Ms. Yeates, who didn't have a class fifth period, listened patiently as Terrence explained that he just had no idea how to do any of the work, but he was ready to try. Ms. Yeates offered to make him some study materials, and asked him to try to do some problems from the very beginning of the textbook in the meantime. She gave him a late pass, he thanked her haltingly, then he headed to History class. 

"Oh, you've decided to stop by after all, have you?" Mr. George interrupted his own lecture icily as Terrence opened the door and stepped into the classroom. The other students, who knew better than to laugh, remained deathly quiet as Terrence closed the door after him. 

"I have a late p – " 

"I don't care what you have," replied Mr. George, taking the offered late pass and tossing it onto his desk. "Take your seat at once and stop wasting my valuable time." 

Terrence slunk to his desk at the back of the room and hunched down as he always did, trying to remain inconspicuous. He did this until Mr. George called for the assignments to be passed to the front, at which point he smugly pulled his essay out of his backpack and handed it up. Peter, the kid in front of him, had to be poked impatiently in the shoulder to take it, as he wasn't accustomed to anything coming from behind him. 

Terrence left the room at the end of the period feeling very accomplished. He shot a glance at Mr. George (who wasn't currently looking in his direction), wondering how surprised the old fart would be when he found Terrence's _completed_ assignment in the pile later. Ha. He went cheerfully to Gym. 

In the locker room he encountered a bit of a problem, however – what was he supposed to do with his glasses when he was in the pool? He tried to recall if he had ever seen anyone wearing glasses while swimming before and thought he remembered some kids laying their glasses on the edge of the pool while they were in the water. The thought of just setting his new glasses on the ground like that to be stepped on or kicked around alarmed Terrence, however, and he finally decided on putting them away in their case and leaving them in his backpack, in his locker. He'd do all right without them for one period, it was just swimming. 

Partway through class Terrence was called out of the pool by the teacher, Mr. French, who held up a slip of yellow paper. "A student brought this over," he said, giving it to Terrence. "They'd like to see you in the office." 

Completely mystified, Terrence got dressed in the empty locker room, but decided to leave his backpack where it was, figuring he'd be back for it soon enough. He forgot entirely about his glasses. 

When he got to the office he was directed to the Vice Principal's private office. He knew it well. He got a cold feeling, like his spine had frozen. He couldn't be in trouble, could he? He stepped in and was greeted by a glare from Mr. George, who was sitting in one of the two chairs in front of Vice Principal Healey's desk. 

"Close the door, Terrence," said Mrs. Healey evenly. 

Terrence closed the door, staring uncertainly at Mr. George. 

"Have a seat." Mrs. Healey indicated the second chair in front of her desk. Terrence sat on the very very edge of it, still watching Mr. George warily. The History teacher was looking especially red-faced, and he was clutching some papers tightly in one hand. 

"Now," said Mrs. Healey, sitting back in her own chair and folding her hands on her desk. "Explain it again, Mr. George." 

Mr. George swallowed and leaned forward towards Mrs. Healey, but he turned his head so that he was looking directly at Terrence. "This boy," he said slowly, "has turned in someone else's work." 

Terrence felt the ice around his spine melt and slither coldly down his back. "Huh?" he gasped. 

Mr. George held up the crumpled papers. "This _boy_," he went on, "who _never_ pays attention in my class, who shows up _late_, who makes a _mess_ around his desk every day, who _constantly_ distracts me when I am speaking, and who _never_ does his assignments had the _audacity_ today to hand in _copied_ work." The History teacher slapped the papers on Mrs. Healey's desk with a grunt and sat back with an air of finality, still glaring at Terrence. 

"Terrence?" said Mrs. Healey smoothly, turning her attention to the boy. "Is this the paper you turned in today in Mr. George's class?" 

Terrence perched horrified on the edge of his seat a moment before reaching out unsteadily to take the essay. He looked at the first page and stared at the slightly blurred words printed on it. He had forgotten to take his glasses out of his backpack. The coldness in his body turned to heat as he sat there, unable to easily ascertain if this was his essay or not. His eyes started to water, making it even harder to make out his own name typed at the top. 

"I…" he stammered, feeling Mr. George's hate-filled stare on him as well as Mrs. Healey's unsympathetic one. "I…I think so – " 

Mr. George slammed his hand down on the desk, making Terrence jump and very nearly fall off of the chair entirely. He dropped the three-page essay and it fluttered to the floor. "The boy is an idiot!" shouted Mr. George, his whole face and neck red now. "He's never done a lick of work in my class all year, and he expects me to believe that he wrote an essay, out of the blue? He's a liar!" 

"Mr. George," said Mrs. Healey calmly, indicating that that was enough. The Vice Principal turned to Terrence. "Terrence, did you write that essay?" she asked. 

Terrence, who was trembling, clung to the chair as if he would fall into the sky if he didn't. "_Yes!_" he blurted desperately, trying to hold it together. "I did it last night!" 

Mr. George stood up and retrieved the fallen essay, and shook it in Terrence's face. "Read it to us, then!" he snarled, his spectacles glinting. "Wrap your tongue around those _hard_ words, boy, and prove that they're yours!" 

Terrence flinched back from the paper, suddenly terrified of it. He couldn't. He couldn't read it. He forgot his glasses…He forgot his glasses…He shivered on the chair, feeling like his insides were dissolving. "I wrote it," he whispered, and turned to Mrs. Healey. "I _did_," he implored feebly. Mr. George huffed and looked triumphant. 

"Terrence, you are excused; go back to your class. I will be speaking with your mother. Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Mr. George." 

Mr. George grunted, dropped the essay on the Vice Principal's desk, and left the room. 

With a great act of will Terrence wrenched himself off of the chair and managed to make his legs carry him out of the office. He wanted to go home. Now. He didn't even care that school wasn't over yet. Deciding to leave his backpack in the boy's locker room he started walking, shakily. 


	6. Chapter Six

_Chapter Six_

Slipping his copy of the apartment key back into his pocket, Mac entered furtively, peering around the living room for traces of his brother. At last satisfied that he had beaten Terrence home, he closed the door behind him and hurried to his room. There it was: the book Bloo had asked for; he'd forgotten to take it with him that morning. He grabbed it, shoved it roughly into his bag, and rushed back to the door. He had to leave before – 

Too late. The door swung open to admit Terrence, who was putting away his unneeded key, attached to a belt loop of his jeans by a ballchain. Mac backed up, uncertain of just what his brother was planning on doing to him today. If only he had gotten here a couple of minutes sooner! He waited for the abuse to start, hoping Terrence would just make it quick so he could get to Foster's and start having fun as soon as possible. 

But Terrence didn't call him a name, didn't lunge to grab him. He lingered in the doorway, eyeing Mac, who momentarily lacked the wits to step out of the way. It struck Mac that something was odd. Terrence was missing both his backpack and his glasses, and his expression was strange – not pissed-off, or even smug, but more...Mac had a flashback to several years ago, at their last apartment, when Terrence had stumbled home having being beaten and robbed of his bookbag by neighborhood thugs after leaving school. That incident had been the last straw that had caused Mom to move them to this nicer neighborhood, even though it was more expensive. In any case Terrence now had that same subdued, frightened look he had had that day all those years ago, only this time he seemed unharmed physically. 

Terrence broke the staring match first. Emitting a strange sort of choking noise he lurched around Mac and fled to his room, not quite closing the door all the way behind himself. Mac stood staring after him in disbelief. After a few moments he turned and put his hand on the doorknob, making to leave. But he hesitated, looking over his shoulder. Something, he thought, really serious must have happened. He chewed his bottom lip in indecisiveness. If he went in there to see what was wrong he'd probably be hit with a piece of flying furniture...and besides, who cared about dumb old Terrence anyway? Mac steeled himself and walked out, locking the door behind him. 

But in less than a minute he was back. 

"Terrence?" Mac called softly, pushing on the door of his brother's room. It swung open slowly. Terrence was crumpled on his bed on the other side of the room, making snuffling noises into the disarrayed sheets. "Um...Terrence?" Mac repeated, edging further into the Forbidden Zone. "Are you okay?" 

The red plaid heap shifted slightly. "Geddout," it mumbled thickly. 

Mac swallowed and stepped up to the bed. "Terrence, did...did something happen?" he pressed. 

Terrence moved his left arm a little, uncovering one watery eye. "What the hell do you care?" he asked crossly. He wanted to jump up and yell and fling the little creep out of his room but he hadn't the strength to do any of it. He felt like a deflated pool toy: a discarded, empty thing. 

Mac shrugged a little, his eyes wandering. "Well, uhm, I dunno...I just care, is all," he hedged, still not sure just why he had felt the need to come in here in the first place. Still trying to guess the answer to the riddle of Terrence's behavior, he came up with a possible solution. "Did...did you lose your glasses?" he asked gingerly. Perhaps Terrence feared Mom's wrath for breaking or losing his new glasses? It seemed a stretch though, Terrence busted stuff around the apartment all the time and never batted an eye. 

Terrence snuffled wetly and rubbed the heel of his hand beneath the exposed eye, which narrowed in annoyance. "No," he replied, unable to come up with anything appropriately rude to say to his dorky little brother who had come into his room uninvited and started asking personal questions. 

Mac switched tactics. "Then what's wrong?" he asked bluntly. 

Terrence peered at his brother for another moment or two then slowly sat up, swiping his nose with his sleeve. He kept his red eyes locked on Mac, waiting for the other to start mocking him for this moment of weakness. Mac just stood there, looking at him curiously. Finally Terrence took a deep breath. "Ya wanna know what's wrong?" he asked, and Mac nodded mutely in reply. "I'm stupid, that's what." 

Mac stared at him. "What – " 

"You heard what I said," Terrence snapped back. "I'm stupid. There, I said it again. Happy now? You should be." He folded his arms and glowered petulantly at the far wall. 

But Mac _wasn't_ happy. "...Terrence?" 

At that Terrence seized the front of Mac's shirt and hauled him in close. "I'm stupid, okay?" he screamed in his brother's face, a burst of emotion giving him sudden energy. "Just like you and your little blue brainfart always said. _Why are you still in here?_" Terrence shoved his little brother away and Mac collapsed backwards. 

Mac was horrified. This was wrong. "But Terrence!" he protested, still sprawled on the floor. "I don't...You're not...That isn't – " 

"Shut the hell up!" yelled Terrence, waving a fist. "You were right, okay? You were right! Now get _out!_" He leapt forward to stomp on Mac, who rolled away just in time and bolted out the door. 

Good. Terrence clomped across the room and slammed the door. Let the little snotrag run off and tell Bloo what had happened, and have a good laugh. He didn't care. He plopped back onto the bed. He didn't care. 

But Mac hadn't left the apartment. Dropping his backpack onto the floor, he stood looking thoughtfully at the kitchen telephone for a full minute before picking it up and dialing a number. 

"Thank you for calling Foster's Home For Imaginary Friends, where the best ideas are never forgotten, this is Frankie, how can I help you?" 

"Frankie?" said Mac into the phone. "This is Mac." 

"Oh hi, Mac," replied Frankie, who sounded a little harried as always, but friendly enough. "Aren't you coming over?" 

"I...I can't today," said Mac reluctantly. "There's um...I have a...a family sort of thing." 

Mac could practically hear Frankie frown in concern over the phone. "Oh," she said, "well, that's okay. You know you can miss a day here and there; it's not like its an Adopt-A-Friend Day. Is everything all right there?" 

"Yeah...Tell Bloo I'm sorry, I'll bring him the book he wanted tomorrow, okay?" 

"Sure Mac, I'll tell him. Well, bye." 

"Bye." Mac replaced the cordless in the wall-mounted receiver and took his backpack to the couch to start his homework. 

He could have gone to Foster's. There was no real reason for him to stay here. But he had a nagging feeling that he ought to stay, that it would be selfish of him to run off and leave. He'd barely started in on his vocabulary list when Mom came home, unexpectedly early. 

She forewent all greetings. "Mac, is your brother home?" 

"Um...yeah, he's – " 

"Terrence!" Mom shouted down the hallway, setting her purse down on the kitchen table. "Terrence, I want to speak to you, now!" 

Mac didn't think Terrence would respond until at least the second summons, as was his trademark, but instead he came out at once, clearly expecting this. The young teen slouched in the kitchen entrance, his hands jammed into his pockets, his eyes lowered. 

Mom exhaled loudly. "Terrence, what on _Earth_ has gotten into you?" she implored. "Your vice principal called me _again_ today and said that you've been stealing other kids' homework! _And_ you skipped a class! I want an explanation right _now_." 

Mac sat very still on the couch. Mom always asked him to go to his room when she "talked" with Terrence; she must be really upset this time to forget. 

When Terrence didn't respond right away Mom spoke again: "And where are your glasses? You should be wearing them all the time." 

Terrence shrugged. "I left 'em in my locker," he muttered. 

Mom huffed and pulled out a kitchen chair. "Honestly, where is your head, Terrence?" She sat heavily. "I had to beg Mr. Samir to let me have tomorrow morning off so I could go to a meeting at your school; he wasn't very happy, we're backed up on paper work at the office." 

Terrence said nothing. 

Mom rubbed her cheek. "_Did_ you turn in someone else's paper?" she asked. 

"No." 

Mom looked at her eldest, lapsing into a thoughtful silence for a moment. "Is that what you were up so late last night working on?" When Terrence gave her a puzzled look she shrugged. "I heard you typing," she confided. 

Terrence stepped up to the table. "It isn't fair!" he cried. "Mr. George told Mrs. Healey I copied the essay but that's stupid! I did it last night! He said I was a liar!" 

Mom stiffened in her chair. "He called you a liar?" she repeated. "What else did he say?" 

Terrence scowled, trying to keep from tearing up again as he recalled the conversation. "He said...um...he said...I was an idiot," he offered meekly. 

"I see," said Mom. Her lips, pressed tightly together, were nearly white. 

"Mom, Mr. George is evil," Terrence went on, a tad desperately. "He's mean to everyone and all the kids hate him. Last week he called Linda a slut in front of everybody because she was wearing eyeliner." Terrence couldn't believe that when it happened. Linda was a goth, not a slut. 

Mom's expression darkened. "Really," she said. 

"And," Terrence went on, encouraged, "the week before that he made Tad write 'I am a waste of air' on the board fifty times and he made Kyle stand in the wastebasket for an entire period once." 

Mom put her palms flat on the table and pushed herself out of her chair. "I see," she said. "Terrence, did you save that essay on your computer?" 

"Er...yeah." 

"Print out another one for me." She took the kitchen phone off of its receiver. "I have to make a few calls." She walked down the hallway and into her bedroom with the phone, closing the door behind her. 

Terrence watched her go uncertainly, then walked slowly to the couch and sat on the end opposite where Mac was. 

"Do you really have a teacher like that?" Mac asked in a serious tone. 

Terrence stretched his arms over the back of the couch and _hmphed_. "Pukeface, just you _wait_," he replied in a long-suffering tone. "Elementary school is a freakin' paradise compared to middle school. Take it from me, enjoy yourself now while you still can." 

"Thanks for the tip." 

The boys sat in silence a moment. 

"Hey Terrence?" 

"What." 

Mac shifted a bit on the couch, not really sure how to word what he wanted to ask. "Is...How...I mean... Is your sight really bad? Without your glasses?" 

Terrence thought of the poster in the Vision center, of the lines on his shirt, and of the hours he spent yesterday in a library of all places. He became painfully aware of how different Mac, sitting so close, appeared now from how he had looked at the dinner table last night, and felt a pang of vulnerability. "Yeah, I guess so," he admitted. 

Mac nodded, feeling bad for the other's handicap, and realizing that he could never know just what that was like unless it happened to him someday too. "Are you going to do your homework every day now?" he asked. 

Terrence hadn't thought that far ahead. Oh sure being able to read something because he wanted to was fine and good, but the idea of sitting up late every night reading and writing about History and Spanish didn't exactly appeal to him. "I dunno," he replied vaguely. 

"There's no sense in only doing homework every once in a while," Mac pointed out. "I do _my_ homework every day. That's what you're supposed to do, you know." 

Terrence rolled his eyes at being lectured by his eight-year-old kid brother. "But it _bites!_" he retorted. 

Mac shot him a patronizing look. "Well suck it up and deal with it! Everyone else has to do their homework every day, what makes _you_ so special?" 

"Hey! Look you little geekbait – " 

"No, you look," returned Mac, "I'm tired of watching you goof off every night while _I_ have to do my homework instead of watching TV, or playing video games! It isn't fair!" 

Terrence scowled at him. "The hell it isn't fair!" he argued. "You've got it made! You're Mom's little golden boy, always pulling in A's and crap!" 

"That's because I always do my homework _every day_. Nobody said it was fun." 

Another silence. 

"So are you going to do your homework or not?" Mac spoke up. 

Terrence scuffed his shoes on the carpet. "I left all my stuff at school," was the mumbled reply. 

Mac's first thought was to blurt "That was stupid" but he held his tongue. "Well," he said after a moment, "maybe tomorrow we can do our homework together." He cringed after he said it, where had that come from? Then he figured it out: since Bloo had left he missed having company while he did his homework. Besides, no matter how many times Terrence acted like a jerk, Mac harbored a deep-seated wish that one day he could have a real big brother like other kids did, one who looked out for him and did stuff with him. Mom always stood by her conviction that one day her boys would be friends, and she told Mac that often. Mac couldn't help hoping it was true. He waited for Terrence to tell him it was a sucky idea. 

But Terrence didn't. He just shrugged and said, "Whatever." He clicked on the TV and Mac went back to his homework. There was a couple of hours of rare peace in the apartment. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Hey there he is." 

"Oh yeah, I see him!" 

"Let's ask him." 

"Well, okay, I guess." 

Terrence heard the voices coming closer, creeping up behind him as he walked to second period. He just knew he was about to be cruelly mocked over and over by his schoolmates until he lost it and ran screaming after them threatening to smash their stupid heads in. He clenched his jaw, turtled his head between his shoulders and resolutely kept walking, trying to ignore them. 

But a cluster of three eighth-graders ran around him and blocked his path, jogging backwards as Terrence didn't stop moving forward. 

"Hey Terrence," said one. "Is it true about Mr. George?" 

"Is what true?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him. 

"That your mom got him fired." 

At that Terrence came to a dead halt. "_What?_" he demanded. 

One of the other boys nodded. "The principal called my house last night and I told my mom about how Mr. George called me names in class last semester and she told the principal – " 

"The principal called our house last night too," said the third boy, who turned out to be Peter from Terrence's own History class. 

"And ours," said the first boy. "I heard your mom was on the warpath about how Mr. George treats you like crap in class all the time and she called the Principal and he started calling a bunch of other parents – " 

" – And now they have _loads_ of evidence against the old bastard," chimed in Peter. "He's been suspended from his job and he might never come back." 

Terrence peered at Peter through his glasses. "...Are you...How do you know?" he asked. 

Peter shrugged. "My mom works in the office," he said. 

"Dude," said the second boy, "your mom kicks _ass!_" 

The bell rang and the boys scattered. Mystified, Terrence hurried to Chemistry class, where he turned in the hurriedly-scribbled homework he had done before first period (after begging the janitor to let him into the gym locker room for his stuff). 

By lunchtime everyone knew the story (and several fanciful variations thereof) of how Terrence's mom had complained about Mr. George and got him suspended. He didn't think he'd ever gotten so much positive attention in his whole life, and he would have enjoyed it a lot more if he wasn't so intent on getting his Geometry homework done. Still, it was pretty nice, and he was even given a brownie by Linda (who was so obviously a goth and not a slut). 

In History class they had a substitute, who told funny jokes, and was nice. 

Mac came back unusually early that afternoon from Foster's, and when Mom came home later to see her two boys cohabitating quietly in the living room each doing their homework, she nearly wept. 


	7. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven_

"Hi, Bloo." 

Bloo stood pouting in the front doorway of Foster's after answering Mac's knock. 

"Hi Mac, ready to leave yet?" he asked sarcastically. 

Mac blinked. "What?" he said. "Bloo, are you annoyed with me because I haven't been able to stay here long the past few days?" 

"Oh, noooooooo," answered Bloo exaggeratedly, his eyes widening in mock concern. "No, no, I don't care at _all_ that you've only been here like, five minutes this week." He turned and slouched off into the foyer. 

"Come on, Bloo." Mac shut the door and followed his friend. He swallowed carefully; he'd been developing a sore throat. "I told you I've had a lot of homework." 

Of course, he'd had the same amount of homework as always, but it felt like more because he'd started helping Terrence out with his, after the older boy accidentally let it slip that he was probably failing enough of his courses to get held back (he made Mac swear on pain of Indian burns not to tell Mom). First Mac was showing Terrence how to use the spell-check on his computer (the boy's spelling and grammar were atrocious, which is what had sided the principal with Mom so fast in the Essay Incident); next thing he knew he was helping Terrence with the Geometry flashcards Ms. Yeates had made. He didn't need to know Chemistry or Spanish or American History to help Terrence review from the textbooks, and he liked doing it. It felt nice to do something with his brother that didn't involve toilet water or spitballs or anything that left marks on the skin. Not to say that Terrence wasn't still kicking him around occasionally, it was just that the older boy was so busy studying most of the time after school now that he didn't make an event out of abusing his kid brother like he used to when he was bored. The best perk was that Terrence let Mac use his computer now when he wanted to, so Mac didn't have to beg Frankie anymore to let him play around with hers (which was never any fun because Frankie tended to hover over him the whole time making sure he didn't do anything catastrophic to "her baby"). 

Bloo whirled around suddenly. "Are you avoiding me?" he accused. 

Mac stopped in his tracks. "What?" he said again. "Bloo, come on, why would I do that?" 

Bloo marched up to his creator. "You've been spending an _awful_ lot of time away from this house, mister," he pointed out, prodding Mac in the chest with one shapeless hand. He drew back, the corners of his mouth turned down and his lower lip trembling. "Don't you _like_ me anymore?" 

Mac knew it was an act but he wasn't callous about it. "I'm sorry, Bloo," he apologized as Bloo turned his back on him. "You're right...I'll stay longer today." He gently cleared his aching throat. 

Bloo whirled around gleefully. "All right!" he enthused. "Come on! There's lots of stuff we could do! Um...now let's see, what can we do around this dump..." 

Mac smiled and followed Bloo deeper into the house. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The next day Mac was sent home from school with a fully-developed sore throat. Mom left work early to take care of him, and when Terrence came home he found Mom on the phone with the pediatrician. She finished up her conversation as he was dumping his backpack on the couch, but before he could ask her what she was doing home she grabbed her coat from the closet and said, "Terrence, I need to take your brother to the doctor. If we're not back by six go ahead and eat something out of the fridge." She hurried down the hall and Terrence heard her speaking to Mac, asking him to get dressed. They came out a few minutes later, Mac looking a little pale. 

"What's he got?" Terrence asked bluntly. 

"The doctor's not sure but he wants to see him right away. See you later tonight sweetie," Mom replied, and then they both left. 

Terrence tried doing a Spanish assignment but couldn't get into it so he turned the TV on instead to watch a rerun of _The Loved and the Loveless_. Mom and Mac were home by five, and Mom put Mac to bed immediately. 

"He dyin' or what?" Terrence asked boredly when Mom came back into the room. 

Mom gave her son an exasperated look and went to the kitchen to fix dinner. "Dr. Baliwaran says Mac just has a sore throat, and that its not the strep that's going around." 

Terrence looked up from the TV. "So...he's stuck in the house, then?" 

"Yes, for a while," was the reply. "I've asked Mrs. Stephens to stay here during the day, that way I don't have to take off of work." Mrs. Stephens was a kind old lady who lived a few doors down all alone with her cats. 

Terrence looked back at the TV and pondered. This wasn't Mac's first illness since leaving Bloo at Foster's, but it sounded like the first one that would confine him to bed for more than a couple of days. Was it all right if Mac didn't go to the foster home for several days at a time? What about a week? Or more? Terrence stared in the direction of the TV, not really paying attention to the program anymore. Would Bloo get adopted to some other kid? An interesting idea. Terrence wondered why he never thought of rendering Mac bedridden before so he wouldn't be able to go see Bloo. That would have been pretty sweet. Well, now was the opportunity for Mac to lose Bloo once and for all, it seemed. The only downside to this was that Terrence would pretty much lose the trump card he held now regarding squealing on Mom about the secret daily visits to Foster's. That kinda sucked. 

Terrence was in a quandary. Let Bloo rot all alone at Foster's until he was taken away by another kid or make sure he stayed there so Mac could keep on visiting him until Terrence dropped The Big One on Mom and got Mac grounded for life, when the time was really right. It was a tough decision. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Hello," said Frankie, opening the door. "How can I help..." She trailed off uncertainly. "I...know you, right?" 

Terrence slouched on the porch, hands deep in pockets. "I'm Mac's brother," he said. 

"Oh, yes." Now Frankie remembered him. She lost her friendly demeanor. "Mac isn't here." 

Terrence rolled his eyes behind his glasses. "I _know_ he's not here," he said. "That's why _I'm_ here. I – " 

"IsitMacisitMacisitMac?" Bloo suddenly bounded into view excitedly. When he saw who it really was he growled like a savage hyena. "What are you doing here you – " Suddenly he stopped, gaped at Terrence, and fell on the floor laughing fit to bust a gut. 

"What's the matter with _you?_" Frankie asked, annoyed, having to sidestep the rolling blue friend to keep from being knocked over. 

Bloo sat up halfway and pointed at the less-than-pleased looking teen on the porch. "Oh man, oh man!" he wheezed between fits of giggles. "The nerdwear is _priceless!_" 

Terrence blinked a couple of times, then advanced with his fists clenched. "Come out _here_ and say that, you little turd!" he yelled angrily. Frankie, who had heard enough about the way Terrence treated poor little Mac, stepped between them. 

"Hey!" she said sharply to Terrence, blocking him from entering. "_You_ are not welcome here. If you don't leave right now I'll...I'll call Mr. Herriman!" 

Bloo stopped laughing at once and stood up. "Ugh, please don't," he said. He peeked around Frankie's legs. "Too bad, so sad, you can't come in to play Terrence," Bloo sang. "Why don't you go home and find something nice and simple to do that doesn't require too many brain cells." 

Terrence reddened, glaring at Bloo, then he remembered why he was there. "Oh, okay," he said coolly, turning to go. "Have a nice life with your new kid." He went down one porch step. 

Bloo frowned. "What does _that_ mean?" he called. 

"Yeah, what _does_ that mean?" added Frankie. 

"Oh," said Terrence casually, half-turning back, gripping the straps of his backpack. "Well, with Mac sick in bed for what might be a long time and not being able to come over here to keep you from being adopted – well, you can take care of yourself, can't you?" He descended another two steps. 

"Waitaminnit." Bloo swerved around Frankie to come out onto the porch. "Mac's sick?" 

"Oh yeah. Way sick." Another step. 

Bloo narrowed his eyes. "And you came here to gloat about it, is that it?" 

"Nope. I came over here to take his place so you don't get adopted. But it was a bad idea. Never mind." And with that Terrence went down the rest of the steps and started walked down the pathway back to the sidewalk. 

"Woah, woah, wait!" Bloo zoomed ahead of Terrence and blocked his path. "Hold on. What's your scheme?" 

Terrence shrugged. "I just want to do something nice for my poor sick brother," he smirked, enjoying himself just a tad. 

"Aw, that's really sweet," said Frankie brightly. 

"No it's not!" yelled Bloo, pointing at her. "This is Terrence. Terrence is _not_ sweet! He's evil! Evil I say! He's the firey incarnation of Beelzebub himself!" 

Terrence grinned. Cool. 

"Oh come on," said Frankie, coming down the steps. "It might be the only thing that keeps you from getting adopted before Mac gets better. Let's ask Mr. Herriman if he'll allow it." She smiled at Terrence. "Come on in, Terrence, and we'll get you a soda or something." She turned and went back up the steps. Terrence treated Bloo to an extremely smug look before following her. 

Bloo seethed on the path for a few moments before flouncing irritably after them. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Yes, yes, I think I understand," Mr. Herriman harrumphed thoughtfully after the situation had been explained. "Yes, I do believe Mac's own sibling would make a suitable substitution during his absence. Master Blooregard, you can consider yourself in this young man's custody for the time being." 

Terrence shot Bloo a satisfied smirk and Bloo turned a shade lighter. 

"But Mr. _Herriman!_" the friend whined. 

"Not another word about it. You've been enough trouble around here as it is, and I expect you to behave for your temporary guardian." He turned to Terrence. "And as for you, young man, I expect you to be on your best behavior as well." 

"You got it, Mr. Cottontail." 

The rabbit might have frowned, if anyone could tell the difference. "That's _Herriman_," he clarified, then hopped off. 

Bloo stood before Terrence defiantly. "I am _not_ hanging out with _him_," he asserted to Frankie, pointing up at the boy. 

Terrence shrugged. "Whatever," he said. "I just have to come over here every day, no one's said I have to babysit _your_ blue behind." 

Frankie frowned. "Then what are you going to do while you're here?" 

Terrence shrugged again. "I have final tests coming up," he replied. "I need to do my homework." 

"_Ha!_" screamed Bloo, waving his arms. "Terrence doesn't _do_ homework! He does...Terrence things! He's _up_ to something!" 

"Oh knock it off, Bloo!" snapped Frankie. "He's agreed to come over here every day after school and the weekends until Mac gets better, and you're being very rude!" She turned back to Terrence. "You can use the library. Would that be okay?" she asked him kindly. 

"Yes ma'am," said Terrence, laying it on thick. As soon as Frankie turned to lead him to the library he made a point of turning his head to sneer at Bloo. Then they went up the stairs, leaving Bloo alone in the foyer to simmer in fury. 

"Whatever he's up to, he won't get away with it," Bloo muttered darkly. 

"Who's up to something?" asked Eduardo, wandering in from the back yard. 

"Mac's evil brother!" exclaimed Bloo so loudly that Eduardo jumped several feet in the air. 

"Evil brother? Oh no!" cried Eduardo, trembling. "What he do?" 

"I don't know yet," Bloo admitted. "But whatever it is, I'm going to stop him, no matter what it takes." His eyes narrowed as he rubbed his hands together, and he gave an evil chuckle. "No matter _what_ it takes," he repeated, and erupted in full-blown maniacal laughter. 

"You're scaring me," whispered Eduardo. 

"Oh, sorry Ed," Bloo apologized quickly. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"Terrence!" Mom yelled when her son dragged himself through the apartment's front door well after seven, covered with yellow feathers and hardened black paint. "What on _Earth_ have you been doing?" 

"My homework," snapped Terrence, stalking off to the bathroom. 


	8. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

After scrubbing his skin raw to get off the feathers and water-based paint, Terrence let himself into Mac's room to see if the little squirt was dead yet. Mac was lying there, feeling miserable from the sore throat but even moreso from the guilt of missing going to Foster's for two days straight - not to mention not being able to at least call Frankie to let her know why he wasn't coming due to losing his voice. 

"Hey," said Terrence, stepping into the room. "How'd you get sick, anyways? You been kissing girls or something?" 

Mac rolled his eyes, unsure if Terrence was being sarcastic or merely naive. "Yeah," he whispered sarcastically. "Don't tell Mom." 

Terrence glanced out the door, making sure Mom was still on the couch, then walked up to Mac's bed. "Here," he said, holding out a small black fabric case on a shoulder strap. "I thought you might be bored." 

Mac blinked at it a couple of times, not taking it. "Isn't that your Gameboy?" he whispered. Terrence had begged Mom for a Gameboy Advance a couple of years back when the price went down; she'd gotten him one for Christmas, and he'd hardly touched it. The reason now was obvious, he hadn't been able see the small screen well enough to play anything well on it; but even though he didn't play with it Mac had always been forbidden to use it. "Yeah," he shrugged, dropping it on the bed. "Don't mess it up, I want it back." 

Mac nodded, a little of his sadness at abandoning Bloo abating. For Terrence, this was an uncommonly generous act, and it heartened him greatly. Maybe Mom was right. Maybe he and Terrence could be friends. At the thought he smiled at his brother hopefully. 

Terrence looked at him suspiciously. "What're you grinning at?" he grunted. 

Mac let the smile drain away. "Nothing," he rasped. "Thanks for the Gameboy." 

Terrence lingered there a moment. The unexpected smile had taken him a bit by surprise. He was tempted to tell Mac what he had been doing after school to see if he'd smile at him again, then shook it off as a stupid idea. What did he want that weirdo smirking at him, anyway? He shrugged jadedly. "Well, see ya, lamoid," he said abruptly, and left the room . 

Mac pulled the Gameboy case towards him and opened the Velcro top. He was about to pull the system out when he spotted a colorful piece of paper slipped into the cartridge pouch, so he pulled that out instead. 

It was a get-well card, that unfolded to several feet long. All over it were scribbled names and warm wishes. Mac recognized the names: they were friends at Foster's. He found Frankie's in there, and Wilt's, and Eduardo, and Coco, and all his other friends, even Madam Foster herself...and how could he miss Bloo's contribution, the long form of his name done in blue marker in a pretentious style all over the top of everyone else's writing. Mac smiled. Then he realized that Terrence must have been at Foster's today to wind up with this. He was a little stunned. Then he smiled again, happily. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

The next day, which was Friday, Bloo chased a swarm of food friends through the library, scattering Terrence's Chemistry notes everywhere, and getting gazpacho all over his textbooks, making large portions unreadable. 

That night when Terrence peeked in on Mac after getting cleaned up (and lectured by a frazzled Mom) he was greeted by a huge, eager smile that surprised the hell out him. He hadn't been smiled at like that by his little brother for...how many years now? It was before Dad left, and before that stupid Bloo was thought up. Before Mac's own recollection, Terrence had been a proud big brother, happily playing with the new baby and doing everything he could to make him laugh. But that was a long time ago. 

Unsure of what to make of the vague memories stirred up Terrence shuffled into the room slowly. When Mac asked in his hoarse weak whisper what he had done that day Terrence sat on the bed and admitted that he was doing his homework over at Foster's so Bloo wouldn't get adopted before the eight-year-old got well enough to go himself. Mac gave him a sudden hug, then smiled at him again. That smile, like he was some kind of hero or something. 

Terrence left, feeling numb. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

On Saturday Terrence walked to Foster's after breakfast and found himself chased all over the grounds by incensed unicorns. Bloo had told them that the boy had called them lovely gentle creatures. It was three before Terrence managed to escape, his clothes in tatters and his Spanish assignment in the stomach of one of the unicorns. 

On Sunday Bloo dumped a mud pie in Terrence's backpack and stole his glasses, finally throwing them into the pool after an hour-long chase. 

On Monday Terrence sat on a chair in the Library only to find it had been coated with a thick layer of glue. When he planted his hands on the seat to push himself off they got stuck too; then Bloo had rushed in with some makeup nicked bravely from Duchess' room and went to town. 

On Tuesday Bloo stole Terrence's Geometry flashcards and threw them off the roof, then stranded the boy, who had chased him up there, and it took him until nine to find his way downstairs again (it took Bloo until eleven but he didn't care). 

On Wednesday Bloo dug a hole in the backyard, filled it with chicken gravy, and covered it over with leaves. After luring Terrence into it by taking off with _Huckleberry Finn_ Bloo opened the door of the kennel that housed all the canine friends. 

On Thursday Bloo did the same thing again because it was so darn funny the first time. 

And Terrence put up with it, because Mac kept smiling at him. 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

"MAC! It's _you!_ You're _back!_" Bloo zipped down the stairs as Frankie closed the door behind Mac and he came to a skidding halt in front of his best friend, foregoing his customary leap in consideration of the boy's recent illness. "Oh boy, I missed you!" 

Mac laughed, glad to be able to do so again now that his sore throat had all but cleared up completely after only a week (it was now Friday again). "I missed you too, Bloo," he said, and they hugged one another. Frankie smiled at them fondly. 

"Hey Mac!" 

"Mac's back!" 

"Coco!" 

Mac smiled around at his friends as they came wandering into the foyer. "Hey guys! Boy, I missed everybody," he said, being sure to include Frankie as he looked from face to smiling face. 

"I guess you were really sick, huh?" commented Wilt. "You look healthy now!" 

"Coco!" Coco agreed. 

"Yeah, I'm okay," said Mac. 

"Hey Mac," said Frankie as they all started heading for the stairs, "how'd your brother do on his final tests? He said he needed to study for them, but then he spent all his time here running around." 

Bloo started sniggering. 

Mac shook his head. "I haven't seen him yet today," he said. "I came straight here." 

Bloo sniggered louder. 

"Well I'm sure he did fine!" said Wilt. "He had to have gotten _some_ studying done." 

Bloo was having trouble keeping quiet. 

"He must be very smart boy," Eduardo spoke up. 

At this point Bloo lost it completely and he collapsed on the floor in a fit of hysterical mirth. 

The others were baffled by the outburst. "Bloo, what's so funny?" Mac asked him. 

Tearing up from glee, Bloo rolled upright. "Oh man!" he blurted, putting a hand on Mac's shoulder. "I'm sorry you missed it buddy!" 

"Missed what?" 

Bloo threw his arms wide. "The hazing of a _lifetime!_" he crowed happily. "I really got Terrence good! I'm sorry you couldn't see it, man." 

Mac stepped back, staring at Bloo. Everyone, in fact, was staring at Bloo. "What are you talking about?" Mac asked slowly. 

So Bloo told them. He told them about the unicorns and the mud and the glue and the gravy. He told them everything, his bright eyes gleaming, while everyone just gaped at him in growing horror. 

Frankie spoke first. "Wait a minute," she said. "Woah. You mean to say that all that time Terrence was here trying to do his schoolwork you were torturing him?" 

"Yes!" cried Bloo ecstatically. "It. Was. _Awesome!_" 

"_BLOO!_" shouted Mac, backing away. "What's _wrong_ with you?" 

Bloo blinked in confusion. "What do you mean?" he asked innocently. 

"Bloo, you should be ashamed of yourself!" said Wilt, very close to maybe being a little angry. 

"I'll say!" said Frankie. "That poor boy goes out of his way to keep you from being adopted out, and you _sabotage_ his chances of passing his tests? Are you _brain dead?_" 

"Cocococo! Co co cocococo!" screamed Coco. 

"Me too, also," Eduardo agreed. "That not nice." 

"Oh, come on!" whined Bloo in disgust. "It's _Terrence!_ He's not a 'poor boy', he's...well, he's _Terrence!_ Mac, tell them about how he's..._Terrence!_" Bloo peered at Mac, who looked strange. "...Mac? Buddy?" 

"How _could_ you?" Mac said quietly, his jaw clenched. "Bloo, that was a _rotten_ thing to do!" 

Bloo stepped back. "But Mac, come on – " 

"I _won't_ 'come on'," Mac returned sharply. "Terrence was being nice! For _once_, he was being _nice to me_, and you go and do something like that! I was hoping...I thought that maybe you guys could get along and Mom would let you come home! He _covered_ for you," he hissed, leaning forward. "He could have told me what you were doing all this time but he didn't say _anything_. I hope you're satisfied." He turned and went back down the steps. 

"Mac?" said Bloo, confused. "Mac, where are you going?" 

"I'm leaving early." And Mac left. 

Bloo stood there, staring after his best friend. The others, still angry at what Bloo had done, felt their need to chastise him fade as they watched him standing there so dejected, and in the end, they dispersed, leaving Bloo alone on the landing. 


	9. Chapter Nine

_Chapter Nine_

Terrence had never felt so rotten. 

He lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the blurred texture of the ceiling, his glasses on the nighttable. He'd been lying there for about an hour already, and felt like he could stay there for the rest of his life. He knew in his heart that he had flunked out. 

How would he tell Mom? How would she look at him then, when she found out that her slacker son had finally, after so many close calls, had to repeat a year of school? He was supposed to go to _high school_ next year. High school. He was going to be a high-schooler, going to hang out with cool kids, maybe join the football team or something. It didn't matter what he did as long as he was in high school. But he had failed. 

The front door of the apartment opened and closed, and a moment later Mac was standing in the entrance of Terrence's room holding a brown paper bag. The younger boy's face fell when he saw Terrence's forlorn expression, the last shred of hope he had clung to fading. "No, Terrence..." he groaned. 

Terrence kept staring at the ceiling. "What do _you_ want," he said dully. 

Mac came in and approached the bed. "Terrence, I'm sorry," he said hollowly. "I...was at Foster's..." 

"So why didn't you stay there?" 

Mac shrugged and didn't answer. He opened the paper bag and pulled out some candy bars he'd bought on the way home with his pocket money. "Here," Mac said, holding them out awkwardly. 

Terrence turned his eyes to look without moving his head; then he slowly sat up and sighed. "Gimme those," he grunted, taking the offering. He unwrapped a chocolate bar with almonds and started in on it. "God, it sucks to be me," he grumbled around the candy. 

"Are you _sure_ you failed?" asked Mac, dropping the empty bag and sitting on the bed. 

Terrence chewed. He reached around and pulled a crumpled, sealed envelope out of his back jeans pocket and handed it to Mac. He swallowed. "I'm supposed to give that to Mom. I'm the only kid I know who got one." 

Mac turned the envelope over in his hands. "It isn't fair that Mom has to be the first one to know about something like this. Shouldn't _you_ know first? It's _your_ grade." 

Terrence shrugged and crammed the rest of the bar into his mouth. "Well, you know, kidsch aren't schuposched to know anything," he replied, mouth full. 

Mac stared at the envelope for a few moments; then he turned it over and ripped it open. 

Terrence choked on an almond. "Christ, Mac, what the hell are you doing?" he demanded. 

Mac handed the open envelope back to his surprised brother. "There," he said. "I'll tell her I did it. You might as well read it now as long as it's already open," he added when Terrence just blinked at it. 

Tossing the empty candy bar wrapper on the cluttered floor, Terrence took the envelope and pulled a sheet of paper from it, unfolding it slowly. He looked at it; then got his glasses from the table, put them on, and looked at it again. 

Mac watched him. 

Terrence exhaled loudly and dropped the paper. "I'm royally screwed," he moaned. 

Mac sighed. So it was official. 

"All right, look, don't freak out," he said. "I'll...I'll tell her it's my fault you couldn't study." 

Terrence snorted. "Yeah?" he said. "What're you going to tell her? That I was babysitting Blooeykins for you while you were sick instead of doing my homework? Look," he interrupted Mac before he could reply, "forget it. You know what, it doesn't matter, I woulda flunked anyway." 

"But maybe – " 

"Nah," Terrence interrupted again, grabbing another candy bar. "There's no way I would have made it no matter what. It was just too late." 

"You can go to summer school," blurted Mac. 

Terrence heaved a sigh, unwrapping the candy bar. "Not if Mom kills me first," he reasoned. 

Mac swallowed. "Terrence," he said slowly, "I'll take the fall for you. I really will." 

Terrence froze, the candy bar halfway to his mouth. "What?" he said. "_Why?_" 

"Because...because you're my brother." 

They looked at each other. There was a long silence. 

Suddenly Terrence slammed the hand holding the candy bar down on his knee. "That's the biggest load of crap I ever heard!" he yelled. "Where'd you pick that garbage up, an after-school special?" 

Mac scowled. "All right, all right," he snapped. 

Terrence dropped the candy bar on the bed, clasped his hands together against the side of his face, and batted his eyes. "Oh, Terrence!" he squealed in a mockery of Mac's voice. "Youh're mah _big_ brother! Ah luhve _yew!_" 

Mac stared at him with mixed feelings. "Knock it off!" he yelled. 

But the other wasn't done. "But _Terrence!_" he went on, now putting his hands on either side of his face and bugging out his eyes. "We're having a special _moment!_ Ah need yew to know how much Ah _cayre!_" And he reached around, grabbed a pillow, and whallopped Mac in the face with it. 

"Hey!" Mac protested, pulling his backpack off and holding it out to fend off the following blows. "Quiddit!" 

"How can Ah quit when Ah _luhve_ you so much?" Whap! Whap! 

Mac was laughing. "Knock it off, Terrence!" 

"What's all this?" 

The boys froze and looked up, Terrence with his pillow held high, ready to bring it down again and try to get around the shielding backpack. Mom was standing in the doorway, surprised and amused. They hadn't heard her come home. 

"Nothing," they chorused quickly in unison. 

Mom smiled fondly at the unfamiliar scene as Terrence dropped the pillow and Mac lowered his backpack. "Well then," she said, "seeing as we finished up early at work today, I'm in the mood for a celebratory pizza. Who's with me?" 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Mom sat on a bench and relaxed. They'd been coming to this family-style pizza parlor ever since they'd moved into their current apartment – in fact they'd gone here that very night, to celebrate "moving up in the world," as Mom had called it. Now they usually came here only for special occasions. 

After devouring the majority of a large pizza between them, the boys had headed off in separate directions to mess around the game room. Chewing on the single piece of pizza she'd taken for herself, Mom watched Terrence in a back corner of the room, duking it out with what appeared to be an uncooperative pinball machine. It saddened her that he had his father's unfortunate temper, and that he was so detached and moody. As a small boy he'd been shy and affectionate, and adorably protective of Mac. She always smiled when she recalled how he'd always keep one hand clamped on the side of Mac's stroller, and proudly proclaim "That's _my_ baby brother," whenever a stranger paused to say hello. That all ended when Terrence was seven, when he developed an unfortunate habit of hitting and pushing Mac to get attention. Mom blamed the messy divorce for the change in Terrence, on whom the constant fighting had been especially hard. He had always been a sensitive boy. 

Mac, fortunately, had no recollection of those days, having been barely two when Dad had moved out. And then he had created Bloo when he was three and a half. Mom supposed that had been good for Mac but the friendship between the little boy and his imaginary friend upset nine-year-old Terrence, who frequently came crying to Mom how the other two were always ganging up on him. Aware that Terrence was instigating the fights by bullying Mac and Bloo, Mom wound up never really punishing anybody, which she realized later might not have been the best course of action. 

Mom spotted Mac standing on a stepstool playing at a video game in the other back corner of the game room, and she pondered painfully on what loners both of her children were. Neither had any close friends; no children ever came over to play, nor did either visit classmates after school. Mac had only had Bloo, and Terrence had lost his friends when they moved and never seemed to make any new ones. She wished they could be better friends with one another – that was what they needed – but she feared that the age difference might be too much. Mac hadn't exactly been expected, and unfortunately his birth came at a difficult time, as that was roughly when the arguments with Dad had started. Still, thought Mom, the two boys hadn't been fighting as much these past few weeks...She still held hope. 

"Mom?" 

Mom turned to see Terrence standing beside the bench to her left, looking solemn. 

"Do you need more quarters, honey?" she asked, reaching for her purse, but Terrence shook his head. 

"Can I talk to you?" 

"You can always talk to me." 

Terrence sat down beside his mother on the bench, and rubbed his knees with the palms of his hands uneasily. Mom touched him comfortingly on the shoulder. "What's the matter, Terrence?" she said softly. 

Terrence removed his glasses and held them in his lap, staring at them. Mom loved how he looked in them; they made him seem more serious and she thought they softened that perpetual teen scowl a bit. She waited patiently for him to tell her what was on his mind. 

At last he spoke. "Mom," he fumbled, "I um, I really like my glasses," he said, looking like he thought what he was saying was stupid. 

Mom smiled and ruffled his hair. "I'm glad you do, sweetheart," she told him fondly. 

Terrence looked up suddenly. "But it was too late," he said morosely. 

"Too late for what?" 

Her son pulled a crumpled, opened envelope from his back jeans pocket and handed it to her. Curiously, she pulled out the letter and read it. She was silent. 

Terrence stared down at the glasses in his hands again. "I guess you wanna kill me now," he mumbled, the scowl back. 

Mom put the letter carefully back into the envelope. "Terrence," she said, "I know you were trying. You did your best." She smiled at him, and touched his shoulder again to get his attention. "Honey, I'm proud of you. It will be all right." 

"But I wanted to go to high school!" Terrence sputtered, leaning back on the bench and looking at her, still scowling. "I'm tired of being such a loser all the time." 

"Terrence, if I hear you call yourself a loser one more time, I really am going to kill you," Mom said sternly, shaking the envelope at him. "Losers are people who don't even try. You _did_ try." She sighed. "I'm sorry, maybe if I had taken you to the optometrist earlier...Never mind," she said. "You might be able to make these credits up in summer school. Do you _really_ want to go to high school next year?" 

"Yeah..." 

"What?" 

"Yes," Terrence corrected himself, a tad surly. 

"How much." 

Terrence shrugged. 

Mom tutted. "How _much?_" 

"Um...a lot?" 

"_How_ much?" 

"A _lot_." 

"Good." Mom put the envelope into her purse. "Because you're going to have to work 'a lot' if you want to make it. But I have a feeling that if you do, things will be just fine." She arched an eyebrow at her son, who was looking at her curiously. "And I know you can do it," she said simply. 

Terrence sat for a moment, then he put his glasses back on. "Yeah," he said. "Yeah, okay." 

"Okay. Now go get your brother. It's time to go home." 


	10. Chapter Ten

_Chapter Ten_

"Uh, Bloo? What are you doing? You know you shouldn't be out here." 

Bloo steadfastedly ignored Wilt and made his way slowly down the porch steps and onto the front lawn of Foster's. Wilt followed the small blue friend uncertainly. 

"Bloo?" he repeated. "Bloo? Can you hear me? You should be inside. Don't you know its Adopt-A-Thought Saturday?" 

Bloo knew. He kept going. Wilt came to a stop, feeling that Bloo didn't want to be disturbed. Wilt did hate bothering other people when they didn't want to be. Finally, he reluctantly went back to the snack table to go back to tidying up. But he kept his eye on Bloo. 

Bloo meandered his way slowly between the legs of friends and parents alike, a determined look on his face. At last he spotted a likely candidate and made a beeline. 

"Hello," said the little boy shyly, looking around at the blue friend who had suddenly appeared beside him. 

"Hello," said Bloo, trying to sound friendly, and not doing the best job. 

The boy paused. "I'm Paul," he said. "My daddy brought me here to find a friend." He smiled brightly at his own words. "Do _you_ need a friend?" 

Bloo looked wearily at him. Paul was a very cute boy, perhaps about five years in age. Probably very nice. 

"Do you have any brothers?" Bloo asked abruptly, ignoring the boy's question. 

"No," said Paul. "I don't have any brothers or sis – " 

"Good," Bloo interrupted bitterly. "I _hate_ brothers." 

"I wish _I_ had a brother," replied Paul, a tad defensively. 

"No you don't," Bloo snapped back. "Brothers are nothing but trouble! You never know when your so-called _best friend_ is going to trade you in for his own _brother!_ So watch out," he said spookily, moving closer to Paul and looking around suspiciously. "This place could be _filled_ with brothers!" 

Paul blinked in confusion for a moment, then giggled happily. "You're funny," he told Bloo, taking his hand. "What's your name?" 

"Huh?" Bloo snapped himself out of his reverie. "Oh. I'm...Blooregard Q. Kazoo." Paul giggled some more at the name. "Just Bloo," he added. 

"Do you want to come home with me?" 

Bloo stood there, petrified, unsure of how to answer. 

When Mac had stormed home the previous afternoon Bloo had been hurt at first, and felt guilty. Not for what he did to Terrence but because what he had done had clearly upset Mac. But a few hours later his sadness turned to jealousy. _He_ was supposed to be Mac's best friend. _Bloo!_ Not stupid Terrence. Bloo was Mac's imaginary friend, Mac had created him to be his buddy. Terrence was just...Terrence, and Mac was _defending_ him? It was a sign of the Apocalypse! No...worse...it was a sign of... 

Bloo had resisted the idea for hours but it had finally struck him: 

Mac didn't want him anymore. 

Overcome with emotion at this revelation, Bloo had let his feelings manifest themselves into stubborn anger. If Mac didn't want him any more, then why should he hang around at Foster's any longer? It was time to move on. 

And so here it was, Adopt-A-Thought Saturday, and Bloo was out on the lawn, being "interviewed" by a prospective adopter. 

And he was filled with regret. 

"Hey, you don't want _him_." 

Both Bloo and Paul looked around curiously at the voice. Mac was approaching, and he had a red, cube-shaped imaginary friend in tow. 

"Here, this is a _much_ better friend," said Mac, speaking to Paul. "My big brother made him." 

Paul smiled; he thought the cube looked kind of funny. "Hi," he said. 

The red friend smiled back. "Hello," he replied. 

"What's your name?" 

"Me Red." 

"I'm Paul." 

Mac touched Bloo on the shoulder. "Hey," he whispered, "that was a close one. We'd better get you back inside before – " But Bloo flinched away. 

"I don't _want_ to go back inside," the blue friend said petulantly, moving away from his creator. 

Mac frowned and followed him. "What? Bloo..." 

Bloo spun around. "And where's your new best friend _Terrence_, hm?" he demanded irritably, shoving a fingerlike appendage in Mac's face. "You guys gonna go pick out a china pattern later or what?" He turned away again and stood there with his arms crossed. 

"_Bloo_..." Mac sighed and looked at the ground. "Bloo, I'm sorry I yelled at you yesterday, but what you did...it was mean." 

Bloo paused, allowing his frown to soften; then he caught himself and scowled full-force. "But it's _Terrence_," he argued, facing Mac once again. 

Mac looked Bloo in the eye. "Bloo," he said gently, "I think I probably created you to help me hate Terrence. But...I don't want to hate him anymore. Maybe you can't learn to do that too, and maybe that's my fault, for creating you that way. I'm sorry." 

Bloo uncrossed his arms and lost his scowl, baffled. "I don't get it," he admitted. 

Mac nodded and put an arm around Bloo. "That's okay," he said. "I guess...you don't have to like Terrence, just...understand that I do. He's my brother. But you're still my best friend," he added after a moment. 

Bloo paused again. "You mean it?" he pressed glumly. 

Mac removed his arm and punched Bloo in the shoulder. "That's the other reason I made you, isn't it?" he smiled. 

Bloo had to smile back. "Yeah," he said. "And to help you get into trouble. Hey, there's some now!" he shouted, pointing to Mr. Herriman, who had just hopped stiffly out of the house carrying a large glass vase filled with roses. "Come on, Mac, let's go bug old Fuzzbutt!" 

"Hey!" laughed Mac, hurrying to keep up with Bloo, who was darting through the crowd so fast several people tumbled over. "Wait up!" 

o o o o o o o o o o o o o o 

Grumbling, Terrence reached under his bed and hauled out a pile of trash, trying to stuff it into a big lawn bag in one motion. He'd already filled three bags with almost three years' worth of accumulated garbage, and it looked like he was going to need a lot more before he was done. But he had to clean the whole room, that was his punishment for failing his classes. He was grounded pretty much for the whole summer, too, barring trips to summer school, which he had to go sign up for on Monday. 

Tying off the bag, Terrence sat on the floor and rolled the bag like a bowling ball towards the others. This was turning out to be a heck of a lot more work than he had bargained for, and he considered sneaking past Mom to the kitchen for a soda. 

He spotted the corner of a book dislodged by the removal of that last handful of trash peeking out from beneath his bed, and he picked it up idly. It was Beverly Cleary's _Dear Mr. Henshaw_. He hadn't seen it since they moved in and had forgotten all about it. He remembered liking it quite a bit. 

Terrence decided to take a break and he lay back on his bed, idly flipping through the book. It seemed too young for him now. _Maybe Mac would like it_, he thought to himself. 

There was a knock on the semi-open door and Mom, smiling, poked her head in. "How are you doing?" she asked, eyeing the four full bags of garbage. "I hope there isn't much more than that?" she asked optimistically. 

"Sorry Mom, I haven't even touched the closet yet." 

Mom sighed resignedly, then stepped over one of the bags to walk to the bed. "Well, I have to say, this is the first time I've seen the floor in here in ages," she remarked, sitting on the bed. She smiled at the book in Terrence's hands. It made her feel good to see her son reading. "What's that?" she asked. 

Terrence shrugged. "Just a book," he said. He closed it and set it on the nightstand. "Mom, do you think I'm smart?" he asked suddenly. 

Mom hesitated, then smiled again. "Of course, honey," she said, then put on a grave face. "But you need to be careful." 

Terrence frowned at her. "Careful about what?" 

Mom nodded towards the book. "Well, you've been reading an awful lot lately," she said sagely. "You know what that does." 

"Um...no. What?" 

Mom leaned in conspiratorially. "If you read too much," she hissed, "your brain will explode." 

Terrence blinked at her. "_Mom!_" he blurted, rolling his eyes. 

"It will!" Mom sat back with a dead-serious look on her face. "And then it will leak out of your nose!" 

Terrence refused to laugh. "Mom, that's not funny," he told her. 

Mom pretended to pout. "It's not?" 

"Nope." 

At once she was tickling him. "Not at all?" she said innocently. 

Terrence was very ticklish, and he squealed with laughter. "No!" he shrieked stubbornly, of course prompting even more tickling. 

"I dunno, _I_ thought it was pretty funny, myself." 

Terrence tried to push her off. "All right, all right!" he managed to gasp. "You're a comic genius! Now stop already!" 

Grinning, Mom relented. "Do you want some lunch?" she asked. 

Terrence snuffled and lay back, instantly regaining his cool. "Nah," he said. "I can clean some more." 

Mom nodded and stood up to leave. When she reached the door she turned to smile again at her son. "You're doing a good job, Terrence," she told him. She didn't mean the room. 

"Yeah," said Terrence. "Thanks, Mom." 

_End_


End file.
